


Breaking Expectations

by x_post_facto



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Incest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-19
Updated: 2011-10-19
Packaged: 2017-10-24 18:56:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/266751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/x_post_facto/pseuds/x_post_facto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco is officially presented to the Dark Lord for the first time and makes a request of his father.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breaking Expectations

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to see if I could write a complex Lucius (and to some extent, Draco) with clear but tangled emotions etc. Hopefully this got accomplished. Many thanks to those who Beta-read it for me, and gave me the courage to post it. Feedback/constructive criticism is always appreciated. Hope you enjoy! Originally published Feb. 2006

'Just do as he tells you,' he had said in the hallway. Poor advice for what he knew was coming. Draco had just looked at him and nodded, eyes wide and glazed in numb fear. There had been a brief argument over clothes earlier, Draco stumbling half-asleep towards the wardrobe, before Lucius had snapped that some people were not to be kept waiting.

"Ah, Lucius, you return. Excellent."

With a nod, he steps into the room, towards the figure seated by the fire. "My Lord."

Even seated the Dark Lord is imposing, the voluminous robes he has taken to wearing spilling around him like an emperor's silks. The commanding air in his posture, the certainty of power in his bearing, is incongruous with his youthful features. Those features - an attractive average - are a sharp reminder of the Dark Lord's strength. It was not so long ago at all that his followers looked into red, slitted eyes and a bony mask of a face.

He is beautiful now, Lucius thinks. As beautiful as before. They will win this war; the Dark Lord, and he, and Draco.

Draco.

"Come in, boy, and let me look at you."

Draco obeys - how could he not? - his pale skin picking up the golden tones of the fire as he steps closer, moving to stand in front of the Dark Lord.

Lucius masks his anxiety as the Dark Lord sits back, examining his heir.

"Your father tells me you are anxious to serve me."

Draco's eyes dart to meet his only a second.

"Yes, Lord."

"I have been watching you, these past few months."

'Your son resembles you.' Lucius closes his eyes at the remembered words. Yes, watching.

"He has raised you well."

'Though he is slighter, dare I say, more elegant, than you.' Though the lids feel heavy, Lucius forces his eyes open.

"Thank you, Lord."

It’s perverse, the way the tension in Draco's stance makes the soft trembling of his muscles more visible. The v of exposed skin on his chest, bracketed by the black of his top, traps the firelight, setting it shifting with every breath he takes.

"How old are you, now?"

The glistening sweep of his tongue against dry lips and Draco answers, "sixteen, Lord."

"His birthday was last week," Lucius murmurs, in his way as the Dark Lord's second.

"Hmm..."

And perhaps they both hold their breath at the considering pause that follows. Something anxious and sick coils in Lucius' stomach.

"Kneel."

That Draco does so without any visible hesitation sends a pleased thrill through Lucius. He is not blind; Draco, despite his knowledge of the dark arts and devotion to all of Lucius' causes, has never mastered the Malfoy reserve, instead wearing his emotions on his sleeve like a Gryffindor.

But now he is kneeling, and Lucius takes in the way Draco’s spine is straight and proud, the expression of awe softening his features and making him look younger. It is stunning.

More so when the Dark Lord reaches forward and brushes tanned fingers against pale hair, then down, across Draco's lips. His Son. It is his son that the Dark Lord wants, and though the tense knot still turns in his stomach, it is eased somewhat by pride.

Draco's brows draw together slightly, confused, but he says nothing. Then the Dark Lord moves his hands to himself, parting the heavy robes without moving his gaze from Draco. There's a small smile on his lips, one Lucius has seen before, on occasion. It is pleased, self-satisfied with the knowledge that what he commands is what will be, and what will be is quite pleasant indeed.

Eyes fixed on the Dark Lord's hands, Draco does not see the smile. Nor, as the Dark Lord slips his cock free, does he see the amused glitter in his eyes at Draco’s sudden inhalation.

Resting his hands on the chair arms, the Dark Lord waits, seeming completely at ease with his erection exposed.

Lips slightly parted from surprise, Draco looks desperately to him, unable, or more likely unwilling, to comprehend. Lucius meets the pleading look steadily and steps closer, behind. He sets his hand on Draco's shoulder, feeling the slide of silk against smooth skin and thin bones, before moving his hand up to hover just over the top of the boy's head, the tips of his fingers teased by fine hair.

"Take him in your mouth, Draco."

When Draco doesn't move Lucius lets his hand touch down, pushing his son's head forward gently, meeting the Dark Lord's eyes as he does so.

Draco leans forward, reflexively at first, then more on his own. Resting his hands to either side of the Dark Lord's legs hesitantly he brings his lips to a hair's breadth from the swollen cockhead.

And stops.

"I don't know how, Lord."

Lucius cannot see his face, but he can imagine the fear in it from the trembling quiet of Draco's words.

The Dark Lord laughs, a low, amused chuckle, and gives Draco an indulgent smile. "Well," he says, and he runs his fingers through Draco's hair, "we cannot expect your father to have taught you everything. Just - taste."

A moment, a bare shift of Draco's head, and the Dark Lord's eyes flutter closed.

"Good," he breathes, "like that."

Lucius moves without realizing it, going to stand where he can see both Draco's movements and the Dark Lord's reaction.

Eyes looking up to his Lord‘s face, Draco sweeps his tongue slowly across the head of the Dark Lord's cock. When no reprimand comes Draco does it again. And again. Then he begins to move down the shaft, and Lucius cannot look away from the wet tongue, the aristocratic face, so like his own, screwed up in concentration.

Draco trails all the way down until his nose is pressed to dark hair, then works his way back up a little faster. There is the occasional sound of encouragement from the Dark Lord, and his hand stays in Draco's hair, but he gives no further orders until Draco is again carefully laving the tip of his cock.

"Take it in your mouth," and here Lucius can see the Dark Lord’s hand tense slightly, pushing Draco to spread his lips around his flesh, "and suck."

Lucius knows when Draco obeys because the Dark Lord sighs and shifts in pleasure, his eyes closed.

And he can't help thinking how wrong it is to close one's eyes to a sight like this, to the flush of Draco's cheeks, the tightly closed eyes, strands of feathery hair...

When the Dark Lord presses down, forcing Draco to take in more than just the tip, Lucius wonders what it must feel like; the head beneath his hand, hair baby-soft the way it only is before bed, the brush of shoulders against his legs as Draco shifts forward, and the intense, wet heat of his mouth. Lucius knows that a virgin's mouth is different, that it quivers and stretches the way an expert's does not. He knows the exquisite torture of breaking that innocence open slowly, to savor it, as the Dark Lord does now.

It does not take long for Draco to pick up a rhythm, directed by the Dark Lord’s hand, and Lucius' own cock seems to pulse with it. There are no sounds except for the Dark Lord's steadily increasing breathing, the crackle of the flames, and the liquid, obscene sounds from Draco's actions. The Dark Lord begins to thrust; languid strokes that nonetheless force Draco to take in everything he can of his cock, and there's a small choking noise before Draco finds the right angle and continues.

Then the Dark Lord raises his other hand to Draco's head, cradling it, and Lucius knows he is close. He has the sudden desire to warn Draco, or to guide him, but before he can decide the Dark Lord is coming, holding Draco's head in place around him. Draco nearly chokes, his body jerking in reflex, the fine muscles of his throat working as he struggles to swallow, one small, whimpering sound escaping somehow.

It isn't until well after the last of the Dark Lord's release has gone that he lets go of Draco, pulling the boy off his softened cock and looking at him.

When Lucius sees the expression in the Dark Lord's eyes he nearly shudders.

“That was -” the Dark Lord considers, stroking one long finger down Draco’s cheek, “exceptional, Draco.”

Draco's face is tense, wet lips glistening as they tremble, but his voice comes out respectful, if not steady.

"Thank you, Lord."

"You will serve me well," the Dark Lord smiles, and Lucius is sure no one could misunderstand his meaning.

There's a nerve-wracking pause before Draco answers.

"Yes, Lord."

Smile broadening the Dark Lord tucks his cock back in, doing up his robes with suddenly swift hands, no longer looking at Draco.

"Thank you, Lucius, for your fine hospitality this evening." He goes to stand, and Draco backs up quickly, still on his knees. "I trust I will see you tomorrow?"

"Of course, my Lord."

"Good evening, then."

"Good evening, Lord."

A crack, and the Dark Lord is gone. Lucius looks to see Draco facing away from him, into the fire. He steps closer, and closer still, until Draco's back is almost against his legs. From here he can feel the trembling in the boy's body, even before Draco turns his head slightly and presses his face to Lucius' robes.

"You did well," he says, after what feels forever, unable to stand the feel of his son's lithe form against him, the hands gripping his robes, in silence.

Draco says something, the words too muffled to make out, and turns his head more, brushing it accidentally against Lucius' still hard cock. He goes suddenly still, and Lucius clenches his jaw, looking into the fire.

Draco pulls back, and Lucius can feel him looking up.

"Father?"

His voice sounds so young, like a child looking for comfort in the dark, that Lucius instinctively looks down. There is no adequate response he can think of for the confusion and hurt that he sees in Draco's wide eyes, and when he says nothing the expression seems to solidify into some kind of understanding.

Draco slides his hand up, over, and his fingers, visibly shaking, begin to work at undoing Lucius' robes. When Draco's fingers curl around him, both firm and hesitant, the pleasure from it makes him swallow, his throat going dry. When Draco pulls him out, and he sees his erection, red and thick in his son's hand, there's a different kind of pleasure, darker with shame, depravity, and other, unmentionable things.

He stops thinking when Draco's lips touch him. They are softer than he imagined, warmer, wetter, everything is simply more than he'd thought. He inhales sharply, releasing the breath in a stuttering gasp that seems louder than words. Draco looks up, and he can read a sort of triumph in the gray eyes, even as it is outweighed by resignation. Lucius sets his hands to Draco's head, blocking the line of site so that all he can see is the pink lips opened around him, the slide of his cock between them. And it is the slide of his cock, after the first few strokes, when he finds his grip has tightened and it is not Draco moving, but himself, slowly fucking his son's mouth.

It is just as they are speeding up, when he knows that he will not be able to last as long as the Dark Lord, that Draco pulls back, off, and looks up at him. It takes Lucius a moment to focus, and when he does Draco looks away, to the empty room.

"h-" he stops, and wets his lips, before trying again, "he will be back?"

Draco's cheeks are bright red, and Lucius cannot understand why they look so strange in the light until he realizes that there are thin trails of tears veining them.

Lucius nods, realizes Draco can't see it, and forces himself to speak.

"Yes."

"Will he - he'll want - " Draco looks to him, pleading for his father to understand. We cannot expect your father to have taught you everything.

And he does understand, with a sinking, helpless feeling. There is no fight, no debate or decision made, it simply is. Lucius nods, once, and lowers himself to his knees in front of Draco.

He reaches up, intending to touch Draco's cheek, but cannot bring his hand the last few inches. Instead he moves to the buttons on Draco's pajama shirt. The little silk nubs slip free almost too easily, as if there should be some greater barrier between his hands and his son's flesh than the all too yielding fabric.

Once undone all it takes is the barest movement from Draco and the shirt slides down on its own, gathering about his arms and waist. His chest bears the first hints of muscle, but is thin and hairless. Lucius is tempted to touch, to learn the other subtle, curving differences from his own, and so he does, setting his fingertips against Draco's collarbone and trailing them down. He wants to feel guilty, hopes, with some long-buried superstitious part of his brain, that the touch will burn him. But there is nothing except the arousal of feeling warm skin beneath his hands.

Draco slips his hands free of the shirt and reaches for him. In a sudden panic Lucius says the first thing he thinks of.

"Lay back."

He doesn't look up to see the odd mix of terror and gratitude on Draco's face, the expression is burned into his mind from the moment he agreed to this... this.

Laying back, Draco sets his legs out, feet just to the sides of his father's knees. He doesn't lay down completely, only settles onto his elbow, watching, waiting for Lucius to follow him.

Instead Lucius takes the cuffs of the pajama pants between his fingers and pulls, forcing Draco to lay back and arch his hips up until the pants slide off. They expose him slowly, and Lucius' gaze follows. There is first the tight abdomen, the golden trail of hair that grows wider, thicker, to surround his flaccid prick, then well toned thighs, the curve of his arse hinted at in the glimpses between, and finally, legs, only barely rougher with hair than the rest of his body.

Lucius sits for a moment with the pants balled in his lap, staring at the body of his son. His prick presses against the back of his hand, an aching reminder that beneath the horror and guilt of what he's doing, he wants this, wants Draco. Eventually he sets the nightclothes aside and leans forward. Crawling his way up, he's careful not to touch any part of the body beneath him. Then there is nowhere else to look but down, into Draco's face.

Draco's eyes meet his and he can see a strange kind of sympathy in them, as if Draco understands. But he cannot, not when it is Lucius that knew about tonight, knew what would happen, and is now achingly hard.

When Draco's fingers press against his cheek he starts slightly. Draco almost pulls his hand back before settling it more firmly.

"Please, father, I don't want it to be him."

Am I any better? Lucius thinks, but swallows the question back and gives a half-nod. Balancing himself on one arm he reaches down, sliding his hand across Draco's ribs, brushing his thumb across a nipple. For the first few moments it is academic - a touch born from the concept of touch. After that the reality begins to work its way through to him, and he becomes aware of heat, the finely varied textures of Draco's skin, the soap and water smell of him. Only then does he lower his body onto Draco's, grinding his exposed cock into the hollow of Draco's hip. That, shockingly exquisite compared to the muffled sensations in the rest of his body, makes him groan and press in again. He moves his hand down, needing, now, to make sure that Draco enjoys this, and brushes his fingertips along Draco's shaft. He does it again, and again, until Draco whimpers and begins to grow hard. Then Lucius closes his hand around the firming flesh and begins to stroke.

Draco is fighting the pleasure, he can tell from the reluctant tone in his cries, from the tension in the body pressed beneath him, and from the way Draco's hands grip at his arm and back, not quite pushing and not quite pulling. He has seen this reluctance before, on countless faces, but it has never been quite like this. It has never been his own flesh and blood at his hand, never an innocent that he knows so well, whose life has always belonged to him. It triggers something in him, makes him desperate, and Lucius speeds up his strokes, grip a little too rough. He grinds his hips, as if he can please Draco by pressing his own pleasure into him.

It takes a while, but eventually Draco is pushing up into his hand. His face stays tense, eyes begging him to get on with it, not to make him enjoy it, and Lucius remembers what it is like to break someone. It has not, in reality, been long since he last felt this particular power in his veins, but at the moment it feels as it did in the beginning, like water on a parched throat.

He growls and leans forward, not giving Draco a chance to turn away from the brutal kiss. Smaller arms push against him. Draco makes a noise of protest, but it is ignored in favor of a bite to his lower lip, forcing him to open his mouth.

The Dark Lord's taste is still there, a bitter, sharp flavor, and Lucius is ruthless, trying to eliminate it and bring out the softer, innocent taste of Draco from beneath. Rolling, he sets himself completely on top of his son, forcing the boy's legs wider to accommodate him, conscious on some level that the scrape of his robes against sensitized flesh must be edging towards painful.

Draco stops fighting the kiss, though he doesn't participate either. Lucius reaches down, taking hold and pulling one of Draco's legs into position around him. He breaks the kiss to gasp at the slide of their cocks against each other. With swift motions he reaches between them, sliding some of the pre-cum off his cock and bringing his hand back to set long fingers against Draco's opening. Holding for a moment he looks at Draco, taking in the pained, uncomprehending expression, the fresh tear tracks glittering. You're so beautiful, he wants to explain, you'll understand, someday, how sometimes you have to break something to appreciate it. Instead he pushes one finger forward, breaching his son's body, smothering Draco's shocked cry with another kiss. One finger, then two, he stretches Draco expertly, completely, knowing the insufficient lubrication will be painful enough. The initial shock fades quickly, and Draco is first still, then moving slowly with him, fucking himself on Lucius' fingers. Lucius imagines hitting his prostate, feeling Draco arching beneath him. But he avoids it, waiting until it can be his cock making Draco scream.

"I need you to come for me." he says a moment later as he takes hold of Draco's cock again.

Turning his head away, Draco makes a noise that's part whimper, part moan.

"It will hurt less," he murmurs, pressing his lips to Draco's neck.

Fighting it as he is, it takes a maddening amount of time before Lucius coaxes Draco to climax. When he does come his body arches and slams back into the floor, reminding Lucius of the way he jerked when the Dark Lord came in his mouth. He can see the tension in Draco's jaw and throat, where he clenches his teeth to keep from making any noise. It doesn't matter, not this time.

Lucius doesn't wait for Draco to settle, he smears the release over his own cock and shifts, pulling Draco's legs into position around him roughly and settling his cock at the boy's entrance. Only then does he pause, waiting until Draco's gaze is focused on his. He presses forward slowly, and has to force himself to keep his eyes open as the heat and tightness surrounds him. Steadily he pushes deeper, sheathing himself in one agonizingly slow stroke. Below him, Draco looks almost as if he's in shock; eyes wide, mouth open, breathing hard. Lucius imagines that in the face of such an experience there is no room - at the moment - for anything other than the wholly new sensation of being split open. Once he's completely in, Lucius reaches forward, sweeping a damp lock of hair from Draco's forehead.

Then he begins to move, holding on to Draco's hips and pulling the smaller body down onto him with each thrust. It's painful, judging from the tightness of Draco's brow, the way his cries get caught in his throat. Lucius finds his prostate quickly, making Draco gasp sharp and quick, like a slap. He hits it again, harder, triumphantly, and Draco grasps at his arms. Whether he hopes to stop Lucius or encourage him is unclear, and irrelevant. The temptation to slam in harder, faster, is nearly overwhelming, but he has enough control to know it won't get him what he wants. Leaning forward he settles with his elbows to either side of Draco's head, kissing and nipping at the smooth jaw. He's careful, making his strokes firm, keeping his angle so every stroke sends a shudder of unwilling pleasure through his son.

It doesn't take long for Draco's body to betray him and begin to meet his thrusts. Lucius smiles, and sucks on the pale neck hard enough to mark. He expects Draco to resist it, and is surprised when the boy moans in pleasure. "Perfect," he pants into Draco's ear, and speeds up his thrusts.

Draco's hands are still holding onto him, and Lucius thinks how he is likely to have his own, different bruises in the morning. Draco seems to have given in, no longer denying the moans his father wrings from him. In little time Lucius is slamming into him, Draco's hands sliding to his back, his neck, pulling him down and kissing him ferociously. Intense as it is, the kiss lasts only a few seconds before Draco breaks it violently, his cry rupturing the heavy friction of flesh and muscle and breath.

Lucius can't feel his son's release spilling between them, but if there were any uncertainty the impossible tightening of the boy's muscles around his cock confirms it. Two more unsteady thrusts is all Lucius can manage before he's coming too, his whole body going rigid, pulsing with his release. For one moment it is overwhelming, and Lucius cannot tell if it is the thrum of his blood or his seed that seems so loud.

When both have begun to regain their breathing, he pulls out. He is careful, though a part of him relishes Draco's wince. They lay beside each other, Draco with his arms crossed over his chest, legs drawn up, Lucius splayed wide on his back, staring up at the ceiling.

Lucius turns to him eventually and, ignoring the way Draco flinches at his touch, uses his robe to clean the boy off. Draco doesn't meet his eyes, though he turns when Lucius orders him on his side. Done, Lucius sits up, removing his outer cloak and tossing it over to where Draco's clothes lay. He grimaces at the feel of his pants, but tucks himself back in and does them up before turning back to Draco. Facing away from him, still on his side, Draco doesn't give any indication that he's conscious of his father's gaze. Lucius wants to touch him now more than ever. He wants to soothe the red burn the rug has left on Draco’s back. He wants to whisper endearments and make Draco understand that now Lucius has broken him he belongs to him, beyond family ties, beyond blood. But he can't, despite the itch in his fingers to reach forward and caress golden flesh. He has stepped too far, he knows, taken what was not meant to be his, and Draco's hate will be the burning cold of the betrayed.

Carrying the boy upstairs to bed is beginning to look like the best option when Draco at last begins to move. He sits up and, every movement jerky and weak, begins to stand. Lucius mirrors him, instinct readying him to catch Draco should he fall. But Draco doesn't fall. He stands, and takes halting steps over to the discarded clothes. Slipping the black pajama top on is easy enough, but when he tries to balance and pull on his pants with shaking hands, Lucius has to dart forward and catch him. They stay frozen a moment, both startled unreasonably by the contact. It's Draco who moves first, pulling back and looking up into Lucius' eyes. He opens his mouth to speak and Lucius breaks, leaning down and kissing Draco before barely a sound can escape. He clutches at Draco's shoulders, expecting any moment for the boy to begin struggling.

Only Draco doesn't. He steps closer instead, crushing his body to Lucius', his hands going up to settle against his father's neck, holding him in the kiss.

They separate slowly, with small half-kisses, and Lucius rests his forehead against Draco's.

"You should go to bed." he manages at last, not really certain where the words come from.

Draco nods, shifting both of them, and backs up one, tiny step before speaking. "Goodnight."

It's a non-word, a safe noise that can slip between air still shivering with what they‘ve done, letting them separate for now. Lucius tilts his head in acknowledgement, but doesn't look up or respond. He can see, out of the corner of his eye, a steadier Draco pulling on his pajama pants. When Draco turns his back on him to leave Lucius looks up, watching him fade into the darkness of the hallway, around the doorframe.

Drawing a trembling hand through his hair he surveys the room. It seems strangely empty for all that has happened tonight. His gaze fixes on the discarded cloak for a long moment before he summons the will to retrieve it. Heading upstairs, getting into bed beside a wife he loves but does not care about, takes more energy than he has. Lucius sits in the same chair where voldemort breached his son's mouth. It seems a years ago now, that act. More so, even, like a glimpse in dreams of a former life. Shutting his eyes he leans back, remembering the feel of Draco's hands on him, the sweet pain in his face as Lucius took him. Next time, he thinks, he will make Draco beg for it. Yes. In this chair. Draco will plead to be fucked, and he'll get down on his knees and take Lucius in his mouth eagerly. But Lucius won't fuck him, not that time. He'll make Draco beg, and come down the boy’s throat so hard he'll never be able to taste the Dark Lord on his lips again, so strongly will they taste of him.

Lucius' breathing becomes deeper as he drifts off towards sleep. He'll leave Draco next time, and then he'll wait. A day or two, a week, a month - He suspects it won't take that long. Draco will come to him the third time, and then Lucius will know for certain that Draco is his, completely, to break and remake at his will.

End.


End file.
